


It's Always Been You, Dumbass

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Jock Stiles, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nerd Derek, Oblivious Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1414864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Alright, cool, we should go,” Stiles says breezily, dusting off his hands as he stands.</p><p>“We should?”</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>“But… Do you even care about photography?”</p><p>“Not as much as I should,” Stiles plants both his hands on the table, bracketing Derek in, “You’ll have to correct my miscreant ways.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Always Been You, Dumbass

Someone is throwing pieces of a bread roll at Derek. Smirking a little, he licks his thumb and turns the page of his book as if unaffected. A crust hits his eyebrow, Derek raises said eyebrow as if fascinated by what he’s reading.

“Derek.”

Derek shuts his book, and hears a sigh of relief. He glances over the blurb blindly, makes an interested sound, and then flicks the book open again.

“Dereeeeek.”

Half of the bread roll lands in the middle of his page, and he sighs, looks up to glare at the beaming face across the table. The face belongs to Stiles, of course, who seems intent on disrupting Derek’s quest to finish  _Don Quixote_. It’s been slow going, so he’s not entirely adverse to being distracted—especially by Stiles—but, he can’t say so. Instead, he looks impassively back at Stiles as Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, grins widely.

“Oh hey, did I interrupt your reading?”

Derek rolls his eyes, snatches up the bread roll and tosses it back at Stiles. Stiles opens his mouth and catches it, chews until it’s disappeared, and Derek wrinkles up his nose in disgust.

“You’re incredible.”

“ _You’re_  incredible,” Stiles retorts, “What are you reading?”

“El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha,” Derek says to be annoying.

Stiles’ jaw drops, and his cheeks flush before he clears his throat, grabs his chocolate milk, “Is that Spanish?”

“Yeah,” Derek pushes his glasses back up his nose, reopens his book, “I learnt it by  _reading_.”

He can see Stiles smirking over the top of his book, and pointedly ignores it.

“You sound hot when you speak in Spanish, man, you should do it all the time. For like a whole day,” Stiles’ gaze goes glazed, and Derek snorts.

“Sure,  _bueno_.”

Stiles’ expression goes fond, and Derek basks in it even as he’s cursing himself. He really should know better. Where Derek is reserved, happy to excel in the classroom and not on the social plane of his year group, Stiles is the very opposite, a social butterfly. Stiles knows every student in their year, flits between the different high school cliché friendship circles easily with his infectious laugh and cheerful spirit. Despite his terrible coordination—leading to many a stumble into Derek when trying to walk with him between classes—Stiles is surprisingly nifty and skilled on the lacrosse field. It meant that from an early age in high school, he and his best friend Scott McCall were heroes to the student body, invited to every party, and were always the life and soul of it. Derek had actually, originally, been very determined to avoid Stiles.

As ever, when it comes to Stiles, he had to be contrary and demand Derek’s attention at almost every turn. He would sit behind Derek in class and kick the back of his chair; contradict Derek’s arguments in debate; flick paper airplanes at his desk when he was trying to concentrate on Harris’ droning lectures. Derek used to think it was because Stiles was trying to threaten him. It seemed like Stiles was going out of his way to rile him up. When he lost his temper and shoved Stiles against the lockers, demanded to know what Stile’s game was, Stiles had laughed and said he just thought Derek seemed interesting, that they’d be great friends.

Derek had disagreed.

Derek is always wrong when it comes to Stiles.

A year and a half later, and Stiles is probably one of Derek’s closest and indeed, only friends. Erica would cut Derek with a nail file if he even dared imply Stiles was his best friend, however.

As if hearing her name in his thoughts, Erica slides her tray onto the table, beams at them both.

“Two of my favorite boys,” she coos.

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles bats his eyelashes, enquires after Erica’s day so far. He’s horribly charming when he wants to be, and Derek quashes any desire for that charm to be turned his way, turns back to his book. 

Cora joins them, slaps Derek’s book against his face, “Hey nerd, you hear about Avedon’s retrospective coming Beacon Hills way on Saturday?”

“What’s this?” Stiles interrupts before Derek can say yes, of course he’s heard, and he’ll be first in line to see it.

Cora snorts, “Derek’s love affair with Avedon’s going to increase tenfold once he’s seen him in person at the weekend.”

Stiles’ face falls, and he glances at Derek in confusion, “Who’s Avedon? Is he your boyfriend? Why didn’t I know about this?”

Derek almost laughs, “He’s a famous photographer, Stiles, and he’s dead.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Derek must say, he’s never seen someone look quite so pleased upon hearing about someone else’s death. Stiles begins pulling apart another bread roll, peeks up at Derek, “Then, what’s happening this weekend?”

“One of his major exhibitions is on tour, and it’s stopping in Beacon Hills,” Cora tells him. “Derek pretty much creamed himself hearing about it.”

Derek elbows his sister hard, scowls, “I did not. I was merely relieved there is some cultural hope for Beacon Hills, yet.”

Stiles lifts his fist in teasing cheer, and Derek bats at it.

“Alright, cool, we should go,” Stiles says breezily, dusting off his hands as he stands.

“We should?”

“Yeah!”

“But… Do you even care about photography?”

“Not as much as I should,” Stiles plants both his hands on the table, bracketing Derek in, “You’ll have to correct my miscreant ways.”

“Chance’ll be a fine thing,” Derek manages in a strangled voice as Stiles leans in even closer.

Stiles huffs a laugh, winks, and then straightens up as he waves his goodbyes to the table at large. Derek watches as he jogs over to where Scott and Lydia are sitting, throws his arms around Scott and mutters something in Scott’s ear that makes Scott cheer and demand a high five. He valiantly resists resting his chin on his hands to stare after him. Cora throws a fry at him.

“Why is everyone insistent on throwing things in my face?!”

“Cos you’re a nerd,” she shrugs, diving into her plate of fries enthusiastically.

Derek returns to his book with a huff.

*

“So,” Stiles saunters between photographs, hands fidgeting like he’s itching to touch. Derek ducks his head so as not to smile too obviously at it. “These are art, right?”

“Yeah, if you think so.”

Stiles squints up at a photograph of Eisenhower, frowns, “Do you?”

“Yes, but it’s personal interpretation.”

“I like this one,” Stiles points at the basketball player Lew Alcindor, “He looks so composed and like… regal.”

Derek arches an eyebrow, and Stiles blushes scratches the back of his neck, “Is that dumb? Never mind.”

“No, it wasn’t dumb at all, I agree.”

“Oh,” Stiles looks suddenly pleased, “Cool.”

Derek pauses in front of Brigette Bardot, admiring how her natural beauty shines through despite the lack of lens focus. It’s Saturday afternoon, and the gallery is packed, people murmuring between themselves. Derek has to admit, he’s surprised Stiles even remembered he’d suggested they go. He’d figured it would be one of those times you get caught up in the moment and swear you’ll do something… only to never get around to doing it. He’d asked Cora to come with him last night as they were eating ice cream and watching a re-run of Scrubs. Cora had snorted and told him that wouldn’t be necessary.

It would appear she’d been correct. Stiles had text him at eleven to check Derek still wanted to go, and then picked him up half an hour later. Derek glances over at him now, face turned up at the Bardot photograph, eyes alight with awe.

“She’s very beautiful,” he murmurs.

Derek hums his agreement and then remembers to be looking at the picture when Stiles turns back to him.

“Hey, you wanna grab some food after this?”

“Don’t you have plans with your friends?”

Stiles scoffs, “I have plans with you, dumbass, that’s way better.” He winces, “Don’t tell Scotty I ever said that.”

Derek grins to himself, “I promise.”

“I didn’t mean it like  _that_ , you know, I’m not gonna be one of those guys that ditches his friends just because he’s got a boyfriend.”

“You haven’t ditched me,” Derek muses, “And, we’re friends.”

“Yeah, exactly—no, wait—” Stiles follows him over to a photograph of The Beatles and looks at Derek impatiently.

“What?”

“You don’t—” he makes an abortive hand movement and then sighs, “Do you wanna get dinner, or not?”

“Of course,” Derek huffs, “Otherwise, I would have said no? You’re not  _that_  persuasive.”

“Oh,” Stiles tilts his head to one side, smirking at Derek, “I can be.”

“Creepy,” Derek points out, trying not to look at Stiles’ mouth and ruin his point.

Stiles shrugs, “You  _like_  creepy, dude. Remember that English lesson when we had to write ghost stories and you wrote one about the girl that wore a choker to keep her head from falling off?” He bodily shudders, “Haunted me for years.”

“That was the plan,” Derek says smugly.

“Ass,” Stiles pokes him in the ribs, “You should write me a nice story to make up for it.”

“What about?”

“Something romantic where everyone lives happily ever after, and nobody unties ribbons and heads fall off, okay?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Derek gives him a solemn look, crosses his fingers over his heart.

“Alright,” Stiles circles his own fingers round Derek’s wrist, tugs him towards the exit, “Come on, I feel cultured enough now, let’s eat.”

*

Derek watches over the top of his book as Stiles and Scott launch themselves off the pier, come up in the ocean laughing. Jackson tackles Danny into the water and Lydia calls for them to be careful. She smiles brightly at the lifeguard that’s attempting to talk to her, walks away when he’s mid-sentence to catch Allison’s hand and leap into the waves herself.

Stiles staggers out of the ocean, spots Derek on the beach and jogs over, fucking glistening.

“Dude! Didn’t know you were here.”

“Cora wanted some sun,” Derek shrugs, tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach when Stiles looks him up and down and then looks away quickly.

“You seem to have caught it nicely.”

Derek smirks, and then his eyes catch on Stiles’ bright red shoulders, “You should—”

“Oh,” Stiles tries to twist and look at them, “Shit, I didn’t bring any sunscreen.”

“Here,” Derek tosses him his own sunscreen, “Go nuts.”

“Thanks,” Stiles hisses when his hand slaps on his skin, and then cuts a glance at Derek, “Can you do my back? Please?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “What are you, five?”

“Please! You don’t want me to burn everywhere do you, man? How will I ever win you over if I’m red like a tomato all year?”

Derek grins ruefully, puts his book down, “Come here.”

Stiles kneels in the sand in front of him, and Derek feels his stomach jolt when faced with so much skin.

“Uh,” he lathers up his hands, looks out to sea wondering if maybe Scott should do this. “Is Scott not—”

“Dude, trust me, I’d so rather  _you_  put your hands on me than Scott,” Stiles pretends to shudder.

“Okay,” Derek says faintly, “I’m just going to—” he places his palm at the top of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles seems to tense up, and then relax, melting into Derek’s hands.

“So, what’s the novel of the day?” Stiles asks in a strangled voice.

Derek sweeps his hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades, marveling at the muscles twitching underneath his fingers, the skin soft and hot.

“Derek?”

“Huh? Oh,  _Rebecca_.”

“Dude! I’ve read that one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like  _Layer Cake_  for the nineteen thirties.”

Derek chokes, “What?!”

Stiles turns to grin at him over his shoulder, “You know, how you never find out her name? And, you don’t even realize ‘till the end?”

“That’s perhaps the first time I’ve ever heard those two books compared.”

“What can I say? I’m unique,” Stiles says loftily, his eyes dancing as he looks at Derek.

Derek’s hands still, blinking back at him. Their faces are inches apart, and Stiles wets his lips, flicking his gaze between Derek’s and his mouth.

“What are you doing on Tuesday?”

“Hmm?”

“Tuesday, it’s a day of the week, Derek, much like—”

Derek shoves him forward and he falls into the sand laughing. He props himself up, squints in the sun as he grins at Derek, “So, Tuesday?”

“I don’t know, asshole,” Derek huffs, “I might be busy.”

“Uh huh, with?”

Derek stalls, “Erica?”

“Na uh, heard she’s got plans with Boyd.”

“My sister.”

“Which one?”

Derek smirks, ducks his head, “Fine, I think I’m free, why?”

“Cos Band Of Horses are playing two towns over, and I scored tickets,” Stiles lifts his eyebrows, “You wanna go?”

“Yes,” Derek says immediately, “How did you—”

“I got them a while ago,” Stiles scratches his chin and looks awkward suddenly, “You know when you mentioned you liked them, I thought I’d look them up, you know? And, they were pretty awesome, so I figured, what the hell, let’s see if they’re on tour. And… they were! So, I bought tickets, and I was totally gonna give you them for your birthday so, you could pick someone to go with and not put weird pressure on you, or—”

“You realized my birthday’s in December and they’d have been and gone?”

“Yeah,” Stiles laughs, “I wasn’t like—trynna—make you—”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, “I wanna go with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he kicks sand at Stiles gently, “Of course, no one else I know likes them anyway.”

“Oh,  _ha ha_ ,” Stiles leaps at him, chucking sand as he goes.

Derek catches him around his waist, covered in sand five minutes later, and races towards the pier with him.

“No, Derek, no! I just put sunscreen on! This is irresponsible! Think of your nerd roots!”

“Nerd roots? That’s it,” Derek breathes, “I’ll fucking show you—” as he tosses Stiles, Stiles grabs his wrist and Derek’s yanked off the pier and into the water, too.

He comes up spluttering, looking around for his glasses and hears Stiles laughing. He glares hard at the blur, and Stiles swims towards him, hooks an arm over his shoulders and curls close to put Derek’s glasses back on his nose.

“Dumbass.”

“You’re the one that dragged me in!” Derek suspects he looks less than angry with water spattered glasses, and Stiles confirms his suspicions when he throws back his head and laughs. He’s still clinging to Derek, their legs knocking under the water, and Derek likes the way so much of Stiles is touching him, how close they are. Stiles leans forward once more to smile at him, messes with his hair.

“You still mad?”

“Furious,” Derek huffs, lifting Stiles as high as he can and shoving him back into the water.

“Canonball!” Scott yells from above, leaping in to their left and sending waves crashing over Derek.

“Nice one!” Stiles calls, “You got Derek all in his face!”

“Sounds like the name of his sex tape,” Jackson drawls before diving smoothly into the ocean.

*

Stiles beeps his horn outside of Derek’s house on Tuesday, and Derek has to stop himself from flying right out of the door.

Talia clucks her tongue as he moves  _sedately_  towards the door, “Couldn’t even come and knock? Doesn’t sound like he has any manners at all.”

Derek rolls his eyes, opening the front door to see Stiles standing on the porch, bunch of flowers in one hand and the other lifted in the air.

“Hi,” he steps back quickly, “Sorry, I just wanted to give you a thirty second heads up.”

“It’s fine,” Derek insists, tugging at his t-shirt nervously. Stiles seems to do a double take when he looks at him, and Derek huffs, folds his arms, “What?”

“Nothin’, it’s just—” Stiles waves a hand at him, “You look pretty cool when you do the whole hipster thing.”

“He lives to be a hipster,” Cora yells from the kitchen, “Lives for it.”

“Shut up,” Derek yells back, “I do not!” He turns back to Stiles, shrugs awkwardly, “I don’t go to gigs a lot, and Laura said this was ‘cool’.”

“It’s good,” Stiles grins, “I love a man in a panda t-shirt declaring we should save the world, would you be doing it in the shirt, or shirt _less_?”

Talia clears her throat from behind them, smirking in the way all the women in Derek’s family love to do; i.e. the way they know they’re embarrassing Derek and they’re very pleased about it.

“Hello Stiles.”

“Ms Hale,” Stiles goes bright red, brandishes the flowers at her, “My dad sends his best.”

“Oh, are these from the Sheriff?”

“No, me,” Stiles coughs, cheeks still pink, “I just thought you’d like them.”

“Ah ha,” Talia smiles widely at him, “I do. You still need to be home by midnight.”

“Mom,” Derek hisses, “Cut it out.”

He jumps off the porch, grabs Stiles’ hand and tugs him away, “Okay, bye Ms Hale!”

“Goodbye Stiles,” his mom calls sounding amused, “Be safe… driving!”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans as they slide into the Jeep.

“I know,” Derek cringes, “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Stiles holds up his hands and Derek sees they’re shaking. “I was so nervous, I totally blew it,  _I’m_  sorry.”

“What, are you kidding?” Derek takes his hands and holds them still, thumb rubbing over one of his pulse points to calm him down, “You were great. My mom’s a terrifying woman.”

“Right,” Stiles breathes out, he looks down at their hands and then grins. “I didn’t even have to pull a yawn trick out, though. Score one.”

Derek rolls his eyes, lets go, “Just drive, dork.”

Stiles pulls a face at him, but turns the ignition, heads out towards the highway.

They make easy conversation along the way, though, it gets tense when Stiles insists they have Lady Gaga on for over half an hour, and Derek threatens to throw the cd out the window.

“You know the rules, man! I’m driving, I call the music.”

“Says who? Where is this rule written down?”

Stiles grins, shakes his head, “’S’on the wall at the department of motor vehicles.”

“Oh, really? Which floor?”

“Uh,” Stiles scratches his nose, “Fifth?”

Derek snorts, presses eject and shuffles through Stile’s cds to find something decent to listen to. “You have an awful lot of Genesis in here.”

“Hey, those dudes get it, ok. Phil Collins is a living legend.”

“You’re more of a nerd than me,” Derek muses, flipping over an album cover.

“That’s not nearly as much of an insult as you think it is,” Stiles says lightly.

Derek smiles stupidly at the cd, sticks it in, “I prefer Peter Gabriel.”

“Yeah, man, he’s great, too. My parents danced to one of his songs at their wedding.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, my mom used to put it on and make my dad waltz her round the living room.” Stiles smiles to himself, “I don’t think he minded at all, but he loved watching her get all pleased when he gave in, you know?”

Derek nods, “That’s really… good… that you have that memory.”

Stiles swallows, “Yeah, I mean, in a lot of ways I was really lucky; to have good ones.”

Derek knows what he’s saying, is aware, suddenly, of the elephant in the car that is his no good, terrible, shitty memories of his own father. He sighs, glances out of the window. After a moment, Stiles’ hand steals across the console and squeezes his.

Slow Runner fills the car, and Derek relaxes, Stiles’ thumb sweeping patterns over his skin.

When they get inside the bar hosting the gig, Stiles laughs excitedly, pointing at three other people wearing shirts similar to Derek’s.

“God dammit, Laura,” Derek huffs, heading for the bar.

“You know, I think it looks best on you,” Stiles commiserates, hand rubbing soothingly against Derek’s back.

“I could not look  _more_  hipster.”

“Kind of the point at this kind of gig,” Stiles bounces on his feet excitedly, craning his neck to look at the stage. “I hear they’re great live.”

The band  _are_  great live, and Derek loses himself in the music, catches Stiles singing along during his favorites. Derek is not the sort of person that sings, ever, but Stiles’ enthusiasm is infectious and he mouths along more than once. During Is There A Ghost, Derek feels Stiles’ fingers twitching against his, holds his breath until the chorus and then hooks his pinky finger round Stiles’. Stiles unfurls his hand, laces their fingers together and they stay like that until the end of the gig. Derek’s hand feels  _cold_  and empty as they clap.

“So,” Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets as they stumble out into the cool evening air, “You wanna head back?”

Derek glances at his watch; it’s almost eleven, and shakes his head, “We don’t have to, yet.”

He can’t bring himself to say he doesn’t want the night to end, but Stiles nods like he gets it.

“Milkshakes?”

Derek lifts his eyebrows, “Now?”

“Yeah, there’s a good place round the corner.”

“How do you—”

“Googled it before we came out,” Stiles sucks his lower lip between his teeth, kinks an eyebrow at Derek, “Thought I’d look for the best spots to impress you with.”

Derek laughs, “So, milkshakes were your first thought?”

“Don’t front, man, I know you have a weakness.”

“I do,” Derek concedes, “Lead the way.”

*

“I like that their music makes me feel nostalgic,” Stiles continues as they pull up outside Derek’s house. “I thought they’d maybe be like… depressing to watch? But, they really weren’t.”

Derek nods and shoves his glasses back up his nose, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He feels stupid for not being able to come up with anything more profound; but that’s  _exactly_  how he feels about them.

“So,” Stiles exhales loudly, “Home sweet home.”

“Yeah,” Derek says faintly, hand fumbling on the door handle. “Hey, thanks.”

“For what?”

“Inviting me.”

“Duh,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t gonna ask anyone else, now, was I?”

“I don’t know… Danny might’ve liked them.”

“I didn’t wanna ask Danny,” Stiles says firmly, “I asked you. I only heard of them because of you. I only wanted to go with you.”

Derek smiles softly at him, and Stiles smiles back. For a split second, Stiles looks like he’s almost leaning forward, and then he jerks back, eyes on the window.

“Uh—”

Derek twists around, catches sight of his mother and Laura on the porch, “Oh, god,” he sighs, “Sorry.”

“’S’cool,” Stiles smirks, “They’re just makin’ sure your virtue’s well protected.”

“My—” Derek scoffs and opens the door, “Sometimes I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know,” Stiles sighs, gives him a significant look Derek can’t read. “For someone really smart, I wonder if you’re being dumb on purpose.”

“Dumb,” Derek hovers by the door, “I’m dumb?”

“Nope, I like ‘em smart, and I like you,” Stiles says firmly, tugging the door out of Derek’s hands. “Go, before I embarrass myself anymore.”

“O-kay?”

“Bye Ms Hale, bye Laura!”

“Bye Stiles!”

Derek waves and then twists to head up the path, glaring at his mother and sister, “Did you really have to come out and check on me?”

“We were just worried, darling; I don’t want the neighbors to think you’re that kind of boy.”

“What kind of boy? The kind that sits in a car and talks about music for five seconds?”

“The kind that canoodles with the star of the lacrosse team,” Laura corrects, “When’s he gonna give you his jacket?”

“Grow up,” he huffs, elbowing her and marching to the kitchen to get a cookie. He needs some sugar after such a nerve wracking evening.

*

Cora sighs, blows her hair out of her face and on her left, Erica chews on her fork, staring at Derek.

“You’re both glaring at me in a supremely judgmental manner,” he turns to look at Boyd sitting on Erica’s left, “Do  _you_  know why?”

Boyd shrugs, “I do, but if you can’t figure it out with that gigantic brain of yours, I aint helping you.” He takes a massive bite of burger and ignores Derek glowering at the side of his face.

“I don’t understand,” he states flatly, “Why are you looking at me like I’m an idiot.”

“Because you are,” Erica says sweetly, snapping open her coke, “Stiles has taken you on  _two_  dates now, and you don’t think that’s was a sign?”

Derek huffs, “It’s not, we were just hanging out!”

“I hang out with Erica,” Cora points between herself and her friend, “I don’t take her on dinner dates where my hands sweat to the point I drop my cutlery.”

“He was just fidgety!” Derek argues, “It’s cute, really. And they weren’t half as sweaty when we went to see Band Of Horses.”

“Took you to see your second favorite band, took you to a photography exhibit, wined and dined you,” Erica ticks them off on her fingers, “Sure sounds like your average seventeen year old boy’s courtship ritual.”

Boyd clears his throat and she smiles brightly at him, “Except you, babe, you were different.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says drily, then points his banana at Derek, “He’s into you, get it. Even if he is… loud.”

“I don’t mind that he’s loud,” Derek shrugs, “I do mind that you’re all getting in my business about this. And, that you’re all  _wrong_. We were just hanging out, he’s cool, and thinks about stuff I’d like to do.”

“Your whole face is embarrassing to look at, right now,” Cora scrunches up her nose, “Really, stop looking happy.”

“Shut your face,” he hisses back, “And, it’s not like that; as if he’d want to  _date_  me.”

“Yeah, sure,” she nods, “It’s not like he hasn’t been trying since  _forever_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek sniffs, flipping open his new book,  _The Rainbow_.

“Hey guys,” Scott McCall stops at their table, beams down at them. “How are you?”

“Great,” Erica points her fork at him, “Answer a question for us, Scott; Stilinski, into Derek, or not?”

Scott looks briefly torn, and then shakes his head, “It’s obvious what the answer to that one is, and that’s not why I’m here.”

Erica narrows her eyes and ignores Derek kicking at her shin under the table, “Why then? If not to at least be helpful.”

Scott rolls his eyes, even whilst smiling affably, and then waves a pile of cards around. “I have invites. It’s my birthday soon and it’d be  _awesome_  if you guys could all come.”

“Thanks,” Derek takes one of the invites Scott proffers at him, “We’ll see.”

“We won’t see,” Cora cuts him off, “We’ll be there.”

“With bells on,” Erica agrees with a sharp smile.

Derek sighs inwardly, gets up to trudge to his afternoon trig class. He’s not against the idea of parties in  _theory_ , it’s just that his high school peers are more likely to get excruciatingly drunk and mortifying before nine than sit and eat some delicious cheeses whilst talking about Wes Anderson. Not, that he’s a snob, or a nerd. He would just prefer something a little more civilized? What’s wrong with that?

It’s unfair that Cora’s voice answers in his own head saying  _everything_.

“Derek!” Stiles threads through the crowds in the corridor, smiles sunnily at him, “You get Scott’s invite?”

“Yeah,” Derek winces, takes his glasses off and wipes them on his sweater vest, “But, I’m not sure if—”

“Na uh,” Stiles interrupts, “Don’t even, you’re going.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, we can go together,” he says brightly, “I can pick you up.”

“Don’t you have to help set up?”

Stiles gives him an incredulous look, “Are you kidding? Lydia designated herself in charge of party set up weeks ago; I’m pretty sure Ms McCall is mad in love with her, and wants Scotty to marry both her  _and_  Allison.”

“I imagine that would keep him on his toes,” Derek says lightly.

“He can handle it,” Stiles follows him into the classroom, settles in beside him and then twists until he’s almost draped over Derek’s desk. “So, whaddya say? We could grab something to eat beforehand; always better to drink on a full stomach!”

“You’re the Sheriff’s son,” Derek points out teasingly, “You probably shouldn’t be planning on drinking anything.”

Stiles waves his comment away easily, “My dad trusts Scott way more than me, and Ms McCall’ll be there. I’ve got the good behavior promise covered.”

“You’re a terrible person.”

“I know,” Stiles sighs dramatically, “It’s like fifty fifty which keeps me up at night more, you or my terrible person status.”

Derek snorts and flips open his trig textbook.

“So, seriously,” Stiles continues, “You in?”

“Yeah,” Derek says hesitantly, “If you want.”

“Do you want?”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to go out and… cut loose?”

Stiles snickers, “You sound  _so_  enthusiastic.”

“Just don’t make me dance,” Derek warns, “Please.”

“We’ll see,” Stiles declares loftily, “I bet you’ve got some sweet moves.”

“If the future of mankind depended on my hips?” Derek clucks his tongue, shaking his head, “We’d all be doomed.”

“I really,  _vehemently_  disagree.”

Derek turns to lift an eyebrow in question, and Stiles looks determinedly down at his textbook, “Shut up,” he says after a second, “You have good hips is all.”

“I—okay?”

Derek taps at said hips with his fingers, feels them out curiously and Stiles groans, bats at Derek’s shoulder with his textbook.

“Dude! I can’t believe I’m saying this but, concentrate on your  _work_.”

“Sorry,” Derek huffs, poking Stiles’ thigh with his pencil in retaliation.

“Hale! Stilinski!” They both snap their heads up as their trig teacher marches down towards them, “Is there a problem?”

“No, sir,” Derek says quickly, “I was just—”

“I was distracting him,” Stiles interrupts, “It’s my fault.”

“That’s not—”

“Detention, Stilinski, keep your eyes on your own page, and get back to work, both of you.”

Derek turns to blink at Stiles incredulously as soon as their teacher’s swept back to his desk.

“Stiles!”

“Shush!”

“But—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles whispers, “I get in trouble all the time, no big, I know how much shit like that means to you, though. I don’t want you castigating yourself for weeks.”

Derek feels stupidly touched, and watches Stiles writing out answers for far longer than he should.

*

“Derek, you got something you need?” Finstock glares down at Derek in last period, and Derek bites his lip, hands fiddling with his folder.

“No, Coach.”

“Then, can you tell us all what’s so fascinating about the scene outside the window in comparison to say, my notes on the board?”

“Everything?”

The entire class falls silent, and Derek wonders if perhaps he hasn’t through this through properly. Maybe Finstock will be so offended he won’t just put Derek in detention, he’ll have him suspended, or worse, expelled! What if he murders Derek and buries him under the lacrosse field later? What if Stiles spends his practices running up and down over Derek’s corpse and has no idea? What if he doesn’t care? What if—

“Detention, Hale, and I swear to god if you sass me again, it’ll be cleaning out the locker room every day for a week!”

Perhaps not  _death_  then; he maybe overreacted a tad. It’s not like him at all to get into trouble, let alone seek it out on purpose. There was just something ridiculously sweet about Stiles taking the fall for both of them earlier, and Derek can’t shake the feeling of wanting to show some camaraderie.

Stiles is sitting at the back of the library, foot drumming impatiently under the table as he gazes morosely at the clock. Derek slips into the room, clutching at his messenger bag nervously. When Stiles glances down at him, however, he startles and then laughs, ducks his head as he shakes it.

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Derek huffs, “I can be bad.”

“And, believe me when I say I want you to be, in  _many_  different kinds of ways,” Stiles smirks, and then his expression goes sincere. “But, not like this, man, what about your record?”

“What about it?” Derek shrugs, “I was being impolite in a lesson, and I deserved reprimand, too.”

Stiles bites his lower lip and Derek aches with how enticing it looks. Then he wiggles his eyebrows, says, “You needed a good spanking, huh?” And, Derek rolls his eyes, shoves his bag in Stiles’ face as he sits down.

“Ha ha.”

“Mmm,” Stiles slides his elbow across the table, resting his head in his hand as he looks at Derek, “So, what did you do?”

“Was rude to Finstock.”

“On purpose?”

“Yep.”

“Jeez,” Stiles whistles, “Brave of you.”

Derek shrugs, “Seemed fair.”

“You’re awesome,” Stiles tells him fondly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek dismisses easily, pulls his Spanish homework out.

Stiles makes a whining noise, “Nooo, we’re actually going to do  _work?_  Why?!”

“Because, we should use this time to our advantage.”

“Not the type of thing I was thinking, dude.”

Derek’s hands slip on his books, “I didn’t bring any escape tools with me.”

“Swing and a miss,” Stiles huffs, yanking out his own homework, “Alright, I’ll do some work. But, you wanna get ice cream later? Seeing as we’re bonded for life over our mutual defiance of the law,” he wiggles his eyebrows again, and this time Derek can’t help the low swoop of his stomach as he watches.

“I like ice cream,” he says carefully.

“Cool,” Stiles licks his thumb, nudges his knee against Derek’s under the table, “Do some work then, nerd.”

Derek’s spent a fair bit of time working with Stiles before. When their chemistry teacher announced a project last semester Stiles actually yelled dibs! and threw his arm over Derek’s shoulder, waving an apology at Scott across the tables. Their project involved delving into fire colorants, and the flames cast an array of colors across Stiles’ face, lighting up his pleased, excited expression and making Derek’s fingers twitch. Before they were close they had a group project in history, and Stiles drove Derek up the wall doing presidential impressions as Allison laughed into her hand beside him. They sit beside one another in trig, and calculus. In sophomore year, Stiles switched with Lydia to sit with Derek in lit, too. He never explained why really, only that being nearer Derek helped him concentrate. Derek has to admit, there’s something pleasant about Stiles sitting next to him. Whenever he needs a break from reading he can take his glasses off, and still see Stiles, sucking on a pen, frowning at a page, or grinning lazily back at Derek.

They work surprisingly well together.

Finstock appears to wave them off, and they stumble into the waning afternoon sunlight.

Stiles jangles his keys, nods at his Jeep sitting on its lonesome in the student car park. “Let’s get out of here!”

Derek sticks his bag by his feet, watches as Stiles navigates out of the car park, drawn like a moth to flame by Stiles’ hands.

“When are you getting your license?” Stiles interrupts his blatant staring and he starts, looks out of the window.

“Next month, I hope.”

“What happened to learning as soon as you could?”

Derek shrugs, “I couldn’t get the hang of it, and my mom’s such a—she’s not very patient, so, we gave up.”

“I could help you,” Stiles offers, just as they’re curving up next to the curb to avoid drifting lanes.

Derek snorts, and Stiles rolls his eyes, “I’m a very careful, capable driver, ok? My dad taught me.”

“Very brave of him,” Derek teases.

Stiles reaches out to sock him on the shoulder with his free hand, “Shut the hell up, I am good.”

“Can’t be any scarier than my mother,” Derek looks at his hands, “Yeah, that’d be… good… if you wanted? Do you have time?”

“Dude, I  _always_  have time for you,” Stiles huffs, “Isn’t that clear, yet?”

“I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume,” Stiles pulls the Jeep up into a spot near the mall, gives Derek an expectant look, “Always, ok?”

“I probably won’t  _ever_  assume,” Derek says, suddenly bashful, “But, thanks anyway.”

Stiles gives him a soft smile, and then lurches out of the car, darting round to open Derek’s door for him.

Derek narrows his eyes, “What was that for?”

“I’m being chivalrous, roll with it,” Stiles sniffs before placing his hand on Derek’s back and guiding him gently into the mall. He doesn’t let go of Derek until they’re inside the ice cream parlor. Derek can still feel the warmth of his hand as they order, and settle back in the booth.

“I love this place,” Stiles sighs dreamily, “My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid.”

“I remember,” Derek says softly, “You always cried when you couldn’t finish your banana splits.”

Stiles jerks up off his elbows and glares indignantly across the table, “Lies and slander! I  _always_  finished them.”

“So, the crying was because—”

“Because I wasn’t allowed to sit with you in all your cheery glory,  _obviously_.”

Derek taps his spoon on Stiles’ nose, “I was a delight, shut the fuck up.”

“Fine,” Stiles sighs out, and then his eyes catch on something over Derek’s shoulder, “No way!” He stands and waves an arm, “Scotty!”

Scott, Lydia and Danny come towards the table, and, though he’s not necessarily wary of them per se, Derek is worried they might make assumptions. They might think Derek has forced Stiles here. They might even talk Stiles into sitting with them, instead of him.

“Yo, how was detention?” Scott claps his hand with Stiles’, but he’s looking at Derek, “Ballsy move, man, going up against Finstock!”

“The things we do for true love,” Danny teases.

Derek feels his ears flame up, and opens his mouth to protest, when he notices Stiles looking at him affectionately across the table, and decides against it.

“We’re here because  _somebody_  decided they needed sugar before we attempt that mountain of an essay Gladys set us for lit,” Scott glances at Lydia with mischief in his eyes, and she rolls her own.

“I need it before I have to listen to you two whine about how much you don’t like writing the essay for several hours.” She looks at Derek appraisingly, “Have you finished yours?”

“Yeah,” Derek pushes his glasses up nervously, “Last week.”

“Of course he already finished it,” Stiles scoffs, “It’s probably laminated and everything.”

“Shut up,” Derek kicks Stiles’ foot under the table and Stiles clamps both of his feet around Derek’s leg, holds him fast. “ _Stiles_.”

“What was your closing argument for Taming?” Lydia interrupts impatiently, “Did you argue  _for_  Katherina’s decision or against?”

“I—” Derek startles when his phone vibrates, and then groans as he reads the text.

“What?” Stiles touches his arm, “Derek?”

“I’m in big trouble,” Derek looks up at him, “Can you take me home?”

Stiles’ face falls, but he nods, pulls a twenty out of his pocket just as Derek does the same.

“Put it back,” he insists, “My treat.”

“You paid for dinner—”

“Go Dutch,” Lydia cuts in, rolling her eyes, “Honestly, boys and their macho-isms will be the death of me.”

“Only if you’re in a movie,” Danny teases.

“Come on,” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand, “See you guys later.”

Derek’s too busy chewing his lip in fear of a very angry mother to realize Stiles holds his hand all the way back to the car.

*

Cora and Laura both bring Derek snacks when he’s exiled to his room. Derek should have known they had ulterior motives as they both sit on the bed and demand to know what he was doing getting detention in the first place. He told his mother he hadn’t been thinking straight; that had made Laura cackle like the evil sister she truly is.

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps for the third time, yanking off his glasses and pacing the room fuming. “And, it’s not fair that the one time, the one time I do something even slightly rebellious I get sent to my room, when  you guys pull crap like this all the time!”

“You’re the golden child, wreck,” Laura says fondly, “She’s pinned all her hopes and dreams on you, now I’ve failed her and gone into acting, and Cora wants to be a pirate.”

“I want to join the Navy, dumbass.”

“Pirate,” Laura waves her hand dismissively, “But, either way, you’re her only hope, Derek.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t, now, tell us—”

There’s a tap on the window, and all three of them swivel towards it.

“Did I imagine that?” Cora blinks, “I’m a little baked, I could have totally—”

There’s another light tap, and Derek dives to pull the blind up just as a stone hits the glass. He shoves the window open, leans out to see Stiles standing on the lawn below.

“Stiles?”

“Dude!” Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, plants his hands on his hips, “I was worried I’d got your mom’s room for a minute.”

“Who is it?” Laura tugs on Derek’s shoulder and leans over him. “Oh, hey Stiles!”

“Laura,” Stiles greets in a strangled voice, “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Do you often steal into people’s yards to throw stones at their windows, or is my brother a special case?”

“Laura, god—” Derek tries to push her back inside the room just as Cora peeks outside.

“Hey Stiles!”

“Cora,” Stiles’ blush is obvious even in the darkly lit yard, “Hey, you going to practice tomorrow?”

Cora snorts, pulls away from the window and grabs Laura from where she’s wrestling with Derek. “Enjoy your chat with Romeo.”

“Shut up!”

Derek leans back out the window, and smiles shyly at Stiles, “Hi.”

Stiles twists his sweater between his fingers, ducks his head, “This is weird and creepy, right?”

“A little,” Derek shrugs, “But, I like creepy, remember?”

Stiles laughs, “I just wanted to check you didn’t get into too much shit, and when you didn’t answer your phone….”

“My mom took it off me. For like two weeks.”

“That sucks, man,” Stiles blinks up at him, “So, does that mean no party?”

Derek hesitates, and then grins wickedly, “No, it just means my sister’s gonna have to cross a favor off her tab.”

“You have a tab?”

“Of course,” Derek grabs a notebook from the side of the bed, waves it in the air, “All of these are favors I’ve done for Cora, and all of these—” he flips over several pages, “Are for Laura.”

Stiles shakes his head, grinning ruefully, “You’re such a nerd.”

“Derek?” Talia knocks on the door, and Derek freezes.

“I gotta go,” he whispers.

“It’s cool,” Stiles backs towards the hedge, “See you at school?”

“Yeah,” Derek smiles at him, “Thanks for comin’ to check on me.”

“Pssht,” Stiles waves a hand, “I always wanted to do something weird and romantic like this.”

Derek hits his head on the window in surprise just as his mother stalks into the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing! Star gazing,” he says quickly.

Talia rolls her eyes, “Tell that Stilinski boy he should use the front door next time, our neighbors were worried I had a very loud burglar casing the house.”

Derek snorts, and then tries to look apologetic. His mother rolls her eyes again, and shuts the door.

*

Lydia slides into Stiles’ usual seat in lit the next day, gives Derek a searching sort of look.

“Hello,” Derek licks his lips nervously, “Can I help you.”

“I love Stiles like a brother,” she narrows her eyes at him, “You’re not going to do something stupid and highly out of character like hurt him, are you?”

Derek balks, “What?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Derek, it’s unbecoming.”

“It’s… not on purpose.”

“Did you know, before Stiles’ first lacrosse game he was so nervous he threw up all over Danny?”

Derek frowns at her, “Uh—”

“But, then, you showed up,” Lydia points her pen at him, smiles almost fondly, “And, suddenly he was right as rain. He spent more of the game checking you were still there than playing, drove Jackson crazy, but, my point… Do you see my point?”

“I think so?”

“Good,” she stands, smiles much more brightly when Stiles comes into the room, and then ducks down to Derek’s level again, “If you hurt him I will haunt you all through college. I can do it, Derek, I might be at MIT but I can multi task like no one else.” She straightens up, fluffs a hand through his hair, “Wear something green tomorrow, it’ll bring out your eyes, and go with the party decorations.”

“Lydia,” Stiles chides lightly, “Are you expecting all the guests to complement the party décor?”

“No,” she says sweetly, “Only the ones allowed to stay.”

“I’ll be there in that blue shirt you picked out three weeks ago,” Stiles holds up his hands placatingly, “I promise.”

“Good,” Lydia nods, “You’ll match Derek  _and_  the décor perfectly.”

“What’s she told you to wear?”

“Green,” Derek says flatly.

“Oh,” Stiles beams, “You look good in green.”

Derek snaps his head up in surprise, blinks at him, “Thanks.”

Stiles grins, clatters down beside Derek, “You survived the night, then?”

“Of course,” Derek feels suddenly nervous, his hands are sweating and he tugs off his glasses to wipe at them in order to keep busy. The classroom suddenly feels very hot, and very small.

“Hey,” Stiles catches his wrist, “What’s up, man, you look kinda peaky.”

Derek swallows as he meets Stiles’ gaze, wonders how he  _missed_  this, the way Stiles is looking at him with such… feeling. Derek has never allowed himself to even consider the way Stiles talks to him, or about him to be based on something real. This is… too much to handle.

“I feel sick,” he blurts out, “I think I might—”

“’S’cool,” Stiles says calmly, rubbing his back as he stands and helps Derek to his feet, “Hey, Ms Gladys? Derek’s not feeling well.”

Ms Gladys peers at Derek in concern, “Derek?”

“I think I should lie down?”

“Take him to the nurse, Stiles.”

“Sure,” Stiles slides his arm around Derek’s waist, squeezes his hip, “You good to the door?”

Derek nods numbly, trips over Danny’s bag on the way and wishes he could bury himself into the floor. Embarrassment is burning his ears as they head out into the empty locker room, and he sways to the side. Stiles tightens his grip, starts humming quietly under his breath. Derek shuts his eyes and lets Stiles guide him, listening to a vaguely off key rendition of  _Marry The Night._

“You can… go back to class,” Derek sighs out as they reach the nurse’s office, “I feel better.”

“It’s cool,” Stiles pushes him gently onto one of the plastic chairs, sits beside him and scuffs his toes on the floor. “Unless, you want me to go?”

“No,” Derek admits weakly, “Please, don’t.”

Stiles smiles and grabs his hand, “I can play your nurse! Bend over and cough for me.”

Derek rustles up a serious glare, and Stiles grins innocently back.

“Just an idea—hey, it distracted you, though!”

“You are good at that,” he mumbles, looking at their hands.

“Remember when I broke my wrist last year, and Jackson signed over everyone else’s names?”

“Yes,” Derek blinks blearily at him, wets his lips, “Why?”

“I was so pissed ‘cos it took  _forever_  to work up the nerve to get you to sign it.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Stiles squeezes his hand, peeks up at him between his lashes, “I didn’t think we’d ever really be friends.”

“Friends,” Derek repeats fuzzily, frowning between their hands and the wall, “Oh, yeah, me too.”

He didn’t miss anything; there’s nothing there to miss in the first place.

Ever so carefully, he lets go of Stiles’ hand, and barely puts up a fight when the nurse sends him back to class, promising to look after Derek. Stiles twitches by his side for a minute, and when Derek doesn’t look up, he sighs and disappears down the corridor.

Derek doesn’t throw up, but he does lie and stare blankly at the wall for a while.

*

“Derek!” There’s a thundering noise coming from his bedroom door, and Derek groans, rolls over.

“No!”

“Derek, for god’s sake,” Erica half falls through the door at the veracity with which she opened it, glares when she sees Derek. “What the hell?”

Boyd’s lingering behind, arms folded and looking unimpressed. Derek scowls at them both, tugs the covers over his head.

“Unless you have my homework from yesterday, go away.”

“I do,” Erica huffs, slapping papers down on his desk and then marching over to the bed, “And  _you_ , are a complete loser.”

“Thanks, get out.”

“You heard the man,” Boyd says from the door, “Let him wallow in peace.”

“You have a date with Stiles in less than four hours, and you didn’t return any of my skype calls last night. Your mom called to tell me to stop ringing your phone, Derek. I rang like ninety times.” Erica shoves at his bed clothes, “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s not a  _date_ ,” Derek snaps, tossing back the covers, “Yesterday he patted my hand and called us  _friends_.”

“You  _are_  friends, dumbass, but, he’s been trying to make you more than friends for a while! I’m pretty sure you’re the only one that missed the memo!”

“There was no memo! There is no dating. Everything is staying exactly as it was,” he flops back down onto the pillows, and scrunches his nose at where Boyd’s rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You’re being a drama queen,” Boyd says flatly, “You should get up, shower, go to the party, and talk to Stilinski. If he doesn’t feel the way you do, it’ll hurt because it’s  _always_  gonna, but, you won’t die. Things always change, man, they already have. Deal with it,” and then he turns on his heel and disappears towards Cora’s room.

Derek scowls after him.

“He’s right,” Erica says briskly, “Which is annoying most of the time, but in this case I agree.” She stands, whips open his closet and grabs a soft green henley, “Get your butt up and put this on. And, I  _will_  see you later, Derek. I will.  _Or_ , I will come back here and beat you. You know I could. I have Cora.”

“You two becoming friends is the worst thing to ever happen in my life.”

“Funny, it’s one of the best things about mine,” she pats his cheek as she passes, “Don’t be pathetic!” she calls over her shoulder, “Or,  _we_  can’t be friends anymore.”

“Fine,” Derek yells after her, “You like Cora more anyway!”

He does, however, curl the henley in his fingers and think about what Stiles said. It was just a dumb, fleeting comment, but it had made him feel so warm inside. He swallows, feels relieved he hadn’t said anything yesterday, and that Stiles just thinks he was feeling under the weather. Now, Stiles will never know, and Derek can deal with his feelings in a mature, adult way.

He can bury them.

Laura’s lingering in his room when he returns from the shower, nods at him as he comes in, “Hey, lil brother.”

“Laura,” Derek points at his towel, “Do you mind?”

Laura turns away, clucking her tongue, and stares out of the window as Derek grabs boxers and jeans, yanks them on.

“What can I do for you?” he asks when he’s decent, tugging on the henley.

Laura turns back to him and smiles so fondly he feels it in his solar plexus.

“Laura?”

“You look so grown up, Derek.”

Derek rolls his eyes, grabs his glasses and then folds his arms, “Is there something you need? Other than to get nostalgic in my room?”

“Nobody’s ever come to my bedroom window to check I was okay, Derek.”

Derek balks, “So?”

“So, you’ve never, ever called on one of the million favors I owe you.”

“Again, so? What’s your point?”

“There were no embraces, because where there is great love there is often little display of it,” she says softly, hands running over the spine of one of Derek’s books. “You might not see it, but it’s there. It’s been there forever with him,” she picks up the closest book, taps Derek on the nose with it. “Do something about it before he turns up with a boom box next time, okay?”

Derek scowls, “I don’t—”

“Derek, honey! Stiles is here!” Talia calls up the stairs, and Derek clutches his bedpost in a panic.

“Fuck.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Laura promises, kissing his forehead like she used to when he was younger. “You’re a total nerd and I love you, have fun!”

He watches her leave, mouth dry, heart racing, but before he can move to the door, Stiles is clearing his throat outside, knocking on said door.

“Derek?”

“Yeah,” he manages, “Yeah, one sec!”

“Can I come in?”

Derek glances around his room in horror, kicks several shirts under the bed, throws his bedcovers across the bed haphazardly and opens the window.

“Uh, yeah.”

Stiles peeks his head around the door, smiles winningly and Derek feels his heart skip.

“Looks tidier than last time.”

Derek’s laugh is high pitched, and he curses himself for it, stands awkwardly in the middle of his room as Stiles comes in. He’s in a blue shirt that stretches neatly across his shoulders, makes him seem so very broad, and narrow in all the right places. Derek feels vaguely weak.

“Hi,” Stiles waves a hand at him, “You, uh, wow you look good. I was right, green suits you.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly, “You look nice, too.”

“Aw, thanks,” Stiles rubs a hand across his face, looks at the ceiling.

“What did you tell my mom?”

“Huh? Oh,” Stiles grins, “I was bringing over a project we were working on together,” he shoots a finger gun at Derek, “Foolproof.”

“Uh huh,” Derek glances between his empty hands, “And, she bought it?”

Stiles looks down at himself, and then winces, “Maybe?”

Derek grins despite himself, “It’s cool, you can go, and she’ll probably check on me once, then I can climb out of the window.”

“Right,” Stiles nods curtly, sways towards him, “Except, I was thinking—look, did something happen yesterday?”

“Why would you—no. No, I just wasn’t feeling well.”

“Cleared up pretty fast,” Stiles says lightly. “It wouldn’t at all be to do with Lydia threatening you, right?”

“Uh.”

“Because,” Stiles ploughs on, “I’ve never had a boyfriend before, so, I don’t know what the etiquette is when your friends do the over-protective thing.”

“Boyfriend,” Derek echoes. “Stiles, you—you said yesterday we were  _friends_.”

Stiles goes very still, and very pale, “We  _are_ , I mean, we were, I thought—oh my god, do you not—are we not going to—”

“No, yes! I just—you haven’t asked! You never even tried to kiss me!”

“I thought maybe you weren’t ready! You were always so nervous, and I didn’t wanna pressure you! Derek, I’ve asked you out on like a dozen different occasions—you—you went on dates with me! Or, at least,” Stiles scoffs, “I thought they were dates. I was clearly… reading something into it that wasn’t there. I thought even, maybe, you were asexual and like… not into me like  _that_ , but I liked you so much, I didn’t care about that part of it. I just wanted to be with you.”

Derek stares at him incredulously, “You— all this time? I thought you were joking, mostly,” he says faintly.

“Joking,” Stiles repeats, expression going hurt, “So, you’ve just been laughing at me this whole time?”

“No!”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles’ face crumples, and he pushes his fists into his eyes for a second, “I’m gonna—”

“No, Stiles—”

Stiles flees from the room before Derek can catch him, and he’s outside running for the Jeep when Derek gets to the door.

“Stiles!”

Talia clucks her tongue behind him, and Derek whirls to look at her frantically.

“Can I borrow the car?”

“You’re grounded, honey.”

“Mom, I might just have done something… monumentally stupid. I need to fix it.”

“Yes, I heard some of it,” Talia shakes her head, “How you have the highest IQ in the family and you still think nobody sincerely enjoys your company, or wants more of it, especially that Stilinski boy, is just ridiculous to me, Derek. You’re a wonderful, smart—”

“Mom! This is very touching but, I need to go! Can I go? Please?!”

“Laura can drive you, seeing as her plans this evening were covering for you anyway.”

Derek has the sense to look abashed, and his mother rolls her eyes, touches his cheek, “You got your smarts from me, kid.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I know, mom.”

“Laura!”

Laura clatters down the stairs, looks between them, “Derek, what did you  _do_?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” he grits out, “Can you  _please_  take me to Scott McCall’s house?”

“Let me get my shoes.”

*

The party’s in full swing when they pull up, and Derek sees Cora on the lawn with Erica. Erica beams and gives him a thumbs up. Derek manages to wave back feebly. He hopes she doesn’t find out about this; she’ll use her nails. She has a soft spot for Stiles; he helped play the most epic April Fool’s prank on Boyd last year. Something about Erica bursting out of Boyd’s lacrosse locker—Derek never wanted the details—but, they both constantly grinned about it afterwards.

He darts into the house, pushing through his peers and craning his neck to see if he can spot Stiles.

Scott gives him an affable wave, and he moves towards him, “Have you seen Stiles?”

“Upstairs,” Scott slurs, “Said he needed to get some rope?”

Derek almost rolls his eyes because that’s so ridiculously Stiles, and claps Scott on the back, “Happy Birthday,” he manages. Scott lifts his cup, beams at him.

Before Derek can maneuverer around people on the stairs, Lydia’s stalking down them and towards him with her hair flying out behind her and a terrifying look in her eyes.

“You!”

“I can explain.”

“You can leave,” she snaps, “You’re more of an idiot than I thought. Your essay on The Road last year was a dead giveaway.”

“Hey,” he retorts, “I don’t need a drive by right now.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” she says sweetly, “Except leave.”

“Honey,” Allison leans out of the living room, looks between them, “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Lydia begins to tap her foot, “As soon as Derek leaves everything will be peachy.”

“Please,” Derek tries again, “I just need one minute.”

Allison pulls a face at her girlfriend, “I think we should—”

“He really hurt Stiles’ feelings,” Lydia explodes. “I don’t think—”

“It’s not up to you,” Allison says softly, taking Lydia’s hand, “We can wait and see,  _here_.” She arches an eyebrow at Derek, “You can have  _two_  minutes, if he so much as yells we’ll be up in a heartbeat.”

“Thanks,” he says curtly, clambering over a sleeping Greenberg.

The first door he tries is a bathroom, and the second is Melissa’s room. She blinks up at Derek sleepily, frowns, “Derek?”

“Hi Ms McCall, sorry.”

“Scott’s downstairs, and the bathroom’s on the left,” she rolls over sleepily, “Don’t make a mess.”

Derek applauds her ability to sleep through the racket downstairs, and moves on.

When he bursts into the last room, Stiles is lying on Scott’s bed, a lacrosse hoodie thrown over his face.

“For the last time Lydia, I’m fine! I love you, but I’d really like to mope in peace!”

“I’m not Lydia,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles sits up straight, throws the lacrosse hoodie in Derek’s face, “Bah, holy shit!” He stands, points at Derek as he clutches his heart, “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry,” Derek tosses the hoodie on the floor and then steps a little closer to Stiles. He’s relieved when Stiles doesn’t move, but he  _does_  flinch a little. It makes his chest ache having done that to Stiles.

“I’m—I didn’t know,” he begins, and Stiles snorts, sticks his hands in his pockets and fixes his gaze on a point behind Derek’s head.

“Sure, you just  _accidentally_  lead people on for shits and giggles. I bet all you super smart kids had a right laugh at that table of yours, judging the dumb jock for trynna be cultural and take you places you might actually like for dates.”

“I did like them,” Derek cries hastily, “I did! I thought—” he swallows his embarrassment, “I thought they were the best. I was so… happy with you… I didn’t want to think it was more. I didn’t dare dream it, okay? I thought,” he scrunches his eyes shut, “If I gave myself hope, if I listened to anyone else, or thought anything else, it’d break my heart when they were wrong; when I was wrong. I don’t like being wrong.”

“Well, you were,” Stiles snaps, and Derek opens his eyes to see him much closer, “You were dead wrong. Because I wanted to date you, and I’ve liked you for years, Derek, years, and you were totally oblivious. I don’t know how you missed it! You’re like the only person in our entire school that doesn’t know!”

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Derek whispers.

“I fucking well was,” Stiles mutters back.

“I see that.”

Stiles snorts, steps even closer and his gaze flicks to Derek’s mouth before up at him again.

“I am serious,” he corrects himself, “I want to date you.”

“Okay,” Derek nods again, “I want that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“The other part,” Derek reaches out, catches Stiles’ hips and delights when Stiles leans even closer, “I want that, too. I want all of it, I really, really—”

Stiles cuts him off, kissing him hard. Derek tightens his fingers, clutches Stiles to him and they fall against the wall. Stiles drags his hands up Derek’s arms, fists them in his hair as they kiss. It’s hot and demanding and a little filthy, and Derek can’t help the wrecked noise that tears from his throat when Stiles ducks to kiss his neck.

“Stiles, fuck—”

“Yeah,” Stiles groans, kisses him again, open mouthed and wet, tongue seeking out Derek’s as he rucks up Derek’s henley, drags his hands across Derek’s back.

“God,” Derek can feel his glasses digging into his skin, but he doesn’t care as long as Stiles never stops touching him. Stiles slips his leg between Derek’s, grinds up, and Derek has to pull away from his mouth to catch his breath. “Fuck.”

“Such language from a nerd,” Stiles teases, tugging on Derek’s lower lip with his teeth, “I’m shocked.”

“No, you’re not,” Derek retorts breathlessly before pushing at his shoulders until he moves backwards. Stiles trips towards the bed, yanks Derek with him and then sits, pulling Derek into his lap. They fall backwards, Derek shoving his hands up Stiles’ shirt to get at skin as Stiles ruts up against him.

“Alright, that’s five minutes more than I said you could—oh!” Allison stops in the doorway, stares down at them.

“I knew it,” Danny says, holds out his hand, and Lydia sighs as she hands him twenty bucks.

“I thought Stiles would make him work harder for it.”

“I’m sure they’re both working hard enough,” Danny smirks, “So, nobody needs throwing out?”

“You all need to  _get out_ ,” Stiles huffs from beneath Derek, “Now.”

“Stiles!” Scott bounds into the room and then stops short, “No, not on my bed! Stiles, you promised!”

Derek looks down at Stiles, arches an eyebrow as Stiles squirms going red. “When we were coming together originally, he made me swear I wouldn’t seduce you up here.”

“Oh,” Derek grins, “Seems like you broke that promise a little.”

“Really? I was seductive?” Stiles sounds positively thrilled, and Derek can’t help but kiss the corner of his smile.

“Stop!” Scott hovers over them, “I’m too drunk to stop you,” he groans, “I’m so happy for you but, please, not my bed.”

“It’s ok, Scotty,” Stiles pushes gently at Derek’s shoulder, and then winces, stops him from moving too far. “Could you all, uh, give us a minute?”

“I don’t mind staying,” Lydia says brightly, “In fact—”

“We’re going,” Allison promises, grabbing Scott’s hand and tugging both Lydia and Scott out of the room. Danny shuts the door with a wink.

Derek covers his face with his hand for a second, and then feels Stiles start to shake beneath him. When he opens his eyes, Stiles is laughing.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t laugh,” Derek hisses, “This is mortifying.”

“Naw,” Stiles runs his hands through Derek’s hair, “It’s really not.”

“ _Everyone_  knows now.”

“Everyone  _should_ ,” Stiles insists, presses one last kiss to Derek’s mouth before sitting up. “The whole world should, but,” he catches Derek’s hand, kisses his knuckles, “I pretty much only care that you know. We should always be on the same page.”

“I’m on the same page,” Derek breathes out. “How well can you scale a house?”

“Why?”

“Because my mom and sisters think we’re here, so, no one’s gonna check my room ‘till morning.”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles exclaims, “Are you suggesting we be  _mischievous_?”

“Yes.”

“I know just the place we can get into the yard,” Stiles declares excitedly, grabbing Derek’s hand and pulling him out of the room.

*

Two weeks later, Derek puts his book down at lunch, looks at Stiles across the table and asks very clearly, in front of their whole group of friends, if he’d like to go to prom with him. As his date.

Stiles says yes, very seriously and then laughs and lurches across the table to kiss Derek. Boyd moves his lunch out from under Stiles’ t-shirt. 


End file.
